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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26284822">tell me, oh powerful one; was it worth it?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Betrayal, Dream Smp, Internal Monologue, Other, Purposeful No Capitalisation, and what now is., character introspective, eret ponders over what once was., l'manburg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:20:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26284822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>selfishness was a drug; with selfishness, came power. with selfishness, came glory. with selfishness, eret got everything he wanted.</p>
<p>his crown feels sickeningly heavy, but he wouldn't want it any other way.</p>
<p>(that's what he tells himself, anyway.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tell me, oh powerful one; was it worth it?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>victory has never quite tasted so bittersweet.<br/>
<br/>
it's an interesting thing, eret muses absentmindedly. the victorious, yet awfully sour taste in his mouth; perhaps not even really there, probably just a figment of his imagination. the strange shivers that tremble down his spine, the lightheadedness that comes and goes with a strike of nausea. the cold sweat that breaks out periodically. dry lips, and war-torn fingertips. tight lungs.<br/>
<br/>
he wants to believe it's just all in his head. the aftermath of an ecstatic anxiety, a proud victory.<br/>
<br/>
victory, yes. what he had achieved was a victory of the highest caliber.<br/>
<br/>
standing at the top of his palace, looking out over the fields below, eret had never felt quite so powerful. even in the many times he had looked out upon the lands before, it wasn't until today that such triumph accompanied what he was seeing. back before the war, and back until just a mere few hours ago, he only had the opportunity to look out at it as a resident. a common person, just another player within a list. even with the fortress he eagerly inhabited himself in, towering walls of intimidating stone, and window panes casting rays of multi-coloured lights across the plank wood flooring, it was nothing more than a fantasy. a long, yet distant wishing. when the foundations of his home were created, things were much, much more simple.<br/>
<br/>
how did things become so twisted? so violent? when did everything turn so serious and dark? when did jokes and teasing become real - when did something so small and so silly become so destructive? when did it all turn from simple to war?<br/>
<br/>
he isn't sure, but with the addition of the new found crown on his head - made with the finests of golds, diamonds, and emeralds in the server - what was once just the creation of fantasy was now paralysingly real.<br/>
<br/>
piercing white eyes scorch the world below, hidden with pitch black shades neatly planted on the bridge of his nose, curly brown hair swaying with the gentle wind; tickling his skin and rustling his clothes, making the trinkets attaching his robe together jingle softly. thoughts concealed behind dark frames, eret stares upon the kingdom he forged for himself. the kingdom he owned, his kingdom. now, more than ever, did he see how the palace walls cast a shadow; dark and overpowering. it was a strange feeling. he had never really noticed it before - at least, not in this way. although, he supposed there wasn't any reason for him to notice before. idly licking his dry and cracked lips, he breathes in the cold midnight air, feeling it fill his lungs, and gently exhaling. for once, his lungs didn't feel consumed with smoke; with the scent of ash or destruction.<br/>
<br/>
it was relieving. gratifying. painful.<br/>
<br/>
biting the insides of his cheeks, he remains wordless as his blank gaze trails over to his former home. it had only been today that he permanently stepped outside of those walls, with a prideful, cocky grin. l'manburg, the walls that he had helped to create. the walls that he promised to oblige by, the walls he had promised to serve so vehemently, his promise worn into paper with thinly applied ink. in the end, he had always known that he was living off false promises. or, in the very least, shaky at best. every smile he had given them, every laugh he shared hid thinly veiled doubt and hesitance. he had always been good at hiding his falsehoods and flaws - it was a trait that came with the character. all he had to do was smile, say a few carefully-chosen words, and doubt wouldn't be considered. as tommy had said all those days ago, during their first meeting - "with a voice like yours, you don't need anyone to speak for you."<br/>
<br/>
tommy was right, in a cruel, twisted way. eret never needed anyone to speak for him, nor did he ever want it. but he let them - for his own sake, he let people speak words for him, hiding behind them and numbly echoing their thoughts, letting them choose the lines for him as he bided his time. running over their lines over and over again, grimacing to himself at every little flaw and every inaccuracy. every word misspoken, and every word that struck him weirdly. at first, it was merely out of obligation. what kind of gentleman would back out of a cause he helped to create?<br/>
<br/>
then, that obligation became frustration. with every lost conflict and every droplet of blood spilt, he felt the annoyance build up, more and more, flowing seamlessly into the bottle he had carefully constructed inside his heart. such a useless war - the fact that he was the only one who saw through the naiveity was infuriating, and everytime he brought up his doubts, it would all be brushed away like a minor inconvenience.<br/>
<br/>
wilbur was the worst with that. how a man could be so intelligent, yet stupidly idealistic, eret could never figure out. but something in his head told him, staring at the taller man, that perhaps they weren't too different.<br/>
<br/>
it takes one fake to know another, after all. eret just had to wonder how long it would be until his falsified determination cracked for good.</p>
<p>dream's offer was like a light at the end of the tunnel; an angels voice in the time he needed it most. trapped within the confines of chains he didn't even believe in, stuck in an echochamber of ridiculous hope, the mysterious figure-head of the server's hand was one he didn't need much convincing to take. he had felt somewhat bad about it before, thinking about how easy it was for him to get him to change sides, how quickly he decided to turn his back on the friends that he, honestly, truly did care for. even now, somewhere within the fog of his racing mind, that painful guilt still remained.<br/>
<br/>
but dream knew what he wanted. what he hid. his deepest fantasies, his deepest desires. dream was a deeply, deeply intelligent and tactical man.<br/>
<br/>
a man who builds a palace and forges a throne for himself out of his own obligation was a man who was practically screaming his deepest wants out for the whole world to hear. and dream wasn't the type of person to remain deaf to such cries. when eret saw that carefully forged crown in his gloved hands, the moonlight reflecting off the hand-embedded diamonds and emeralds, no amount of convincing would ever be able to get him to turn back. the moment his fingertips brushed against gold, glory was the only thing he wanted.<br/>
<br/>
glory with l'manburg was nothing but a delusional fantasy. </p>
<p>that had only been proven. after all, who was the one now, seated up on top of the world, royal robe on his shoulders and shining crown firmly rested on his head? who was the one with power, with materials, with strong allies? who had won the war? who had gained the glory?<br/>
<br/>
certainly not them.</p>
<p>he was the king now. the strong, deserved leader of the smp. he had fulfilled his duties to dream, george, and sapnap just as he said, and they gave him what he had been desperately craving for years on a silver platter - just as they said. by throwing away all his connections, all the people he held dear, by selfishly abandoning his uniform of blues and reds, he cruelly claimed his throne. he was powerful, forceful - strong and unstoppable. with nothing more than a smile and the sound of his voice, he wrapped an entire nation around his finger, and when the moment came, he did everything he could to destroy and ruin. to tear them apart, all for the sake of himself.</p>
<p>all for his selfish goals, his selfish ambitions. selfishness ran in his blood, through his veins, intoxicating his heart and mind. self-indulgent pleasures were his favourite pleasures to indulge in; and power was a drug he seeked out and abused for all it was worth. power-hungry and with an ego to feed, the smoke still fluttering up into the sky from the l'manburg base told an awful, triumphantly selfish story.<br/>
<br/>
and he was proud of it.<br/>
<br/>
(was he?)<br/>
<br/>
his eyebrows furrow, and he heaves a hefty sigh; unheard to the world, unheard to dream, and unheard to l'manburg. only heard by himself, the only one who would ever know. he knew it all; his flaws, his good traits, the good, the man. the selfish, blood-hungry ambitions that plagued his bones, the rough-edged ego that hid behind charisma. he knew it all; only he, and his reflection, the bright, telling eyes, knew. but selfishness wasn't bad; it wasn't abhorrent. in the name of selfishness, he had done bad things - despicable, even. for his own self-indulgence, he had torn apart and thrown away things that any other person would've died before giving away, no matter the reward. but that didn't mean he was bad. he knew, within his heart of hearts, the truth.</p>
<p>he deserved to be proud of everything he had accomplished. even if it meant destroying the people he had grown to care deeply about, nothing meant more than his own satisfaction. he finally had everything he wanted, after all this time. and he was proud of it.</p>
<p>it was worth it.</p>
<p>he takes a few more seconds to take in the view, squaring his shoulders, before he finally turns away, ignoring how suddenly heavy his crown felt on his head; retreating into the comfort and safety of his palace.</p>
<p>his mouth still tasted bitter.</p>
<p>(maybe mouthwash would do the trick.)</p>
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